The It's Kind Of Personal (Complete 6 Book Series)ies

by Anna Brooks

  “You destroyed me. My soul, my heart.” She pulls back and wipes her tear stained face, but I continue. “Thank Christ I found you again because you’re the only one who can put me back together. And I’m not leaving you, you’re not leaving me, until the emptiness I know we both feel is filled with so much fucking love that we wonder how we ever took a breath without it.”

  She leans up and kisses my cheek, my jaw, before she reaches my lips. A calmness enters the room, and we take our time. Slow, gentle, soft kisses that I feel in my chest and my dick. When she finally pulls away, I have to grab the wall to steady myself.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I missed you. So much. And I can’t tell you how many times I dreamed about you, about us. Where we would be in our lives if my stupidity hadn’t—”

  “You’re not stupid. You were scared.”

  “I made a huge mistake. It almost cost your dad his life.”

  “What mistake was that? What could you possibly have done differently?”

  She sits on the bed and crosses her legs. “I dropped the phone. You told me to stay calm, and I didn’t.” Her voice is quieter than before.

  “What? That’s . . .” I stop and shake my head, trying to rid it of the mess swirling around. “You didn’t do anything wrong. None of it was your fault.” Her fingers twirl her long ponytail, a nervous habit. “Look at me.” Slowly, she does what I say and lifts her head.

  “Nobody blames you.”

  “I do.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “If I—”

  “No.”

  “But, if I’d only—”

  “No. Stop!” I yell. “You will not carry this guilt anymore. We’ve already wasted enough time. Guilt won’t be in your vocabulary anymore. Understand me?”

  “Sure,” she shrugs, unconvinced.

  I put the bag in her little fridge, take off my shoes, and sit next to her on the bed. She crawls under my arm and snuggles her head on my chest. The same position we always watched movies in. Familiar. Comfortable. Right. My fingers comb through her hair, and she wraps her arm around my waist. I trace the large scar on her arm and her entire body tenses.

  “From when he pulled you out from under the bed?”

  Her head nods slightly. “How did you know?”

  “My dad. He remembers everything. Saw it happen. Was trying to wait for it to be clear before he shot him but didn’t want to risk you in the process.”

  “Yeah,” she whispers. “It got caught on a piece of metal or something.”

  Her shrill cry of pain still echoes in my nightmares. The kind of cry you know is because someone is hurt. “That was the scream.”

  She nods.

  “Heard that all the way to my bones.”

  “And I heard your voice yelling through the phone the whole time. I saw your dad get shot, Brandon. Saw his body jerk and smelled the burning flesh. But I still heard you; I knew you were there with me.”

  “I know. I wish you never had to see something like that.” Lifting her hand, I kiss the top and set it back down around my waist.

  “Your dad . . .” Her fist tightens on my shirt, and I run my fingers through her hair, knowing it calms her. “I thought he was dead. He looked dead.”

  “But he’s not. He’s alive. He’s happy.”

  “He hates me.” She sobs.

  “No. God, Mary. Nobody hates you. Nobody blames you.”

  I clench my jaw and squeeze my eyes shut. Nothing in the world upsets me more than when my Mary is sad. She was always so tough, so guarded. Now, I’ve seen her cry three times in less than twenty-four hours. It’s killing me.

  “I’m here now. It’s okay.”

  “But . . . but why? Why are you here?”

  “Because you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved. You’ve had my heart with you since you ran away. I want it back. I want you to give me my fucking heart back so I can love you the way I’m supposed to.”

  “I don’t deserve it!” Her small fist hits my chest as she yells. “I don’t deserve you or anything you have to offer me.”

  “Mary! Mary!” A pounding on the door makes her jump.

  “It’s just Betty.” She sniffles and pushes off me, wiping her face before she opens the door.

  “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” Betty’s voice is worried, and I’m strangely appreciative that someone cares about Mary’s well-being.

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” Mary blocks the door, but Betty pushes past her, wielding a baseball bat.

  “Did he hurt you?” She swings at me, and I hop off the bed.

  “No. I didn’t hurt her. Put the bat down,” I say calmly.

  She eyes me up and down. “Why is she crying then?” Another swing, then she looks back at Mary. “Why are you crying?”

  “Stop. Betty. Stop. He didn’t hurt me.” Mary’s soft laughter fills her room, and I smile at the sound I love so much. It is quite comical, this old, plump lady swinging a bat at me.

  Betty squints her eyes and tilts her head, twirling the bat. “You’re that cop. Was here the other night.”

  “Yes. I was.” I eye the bat, just in case she swings at me again.

  “Why are you here? Didn’t you find who you were looking for then?”

  Mary and I both turn to each other, and I answer. “Yeah, I found more than I was looking

  for.”

  She smiles at me then turns to Betty. “This is Brandon. Brandon, this is Betty.”

  A brief moment of confusion crosses her face before she drops the bat and covers her mouth. “Oh, no.”

  “Everything is fine, I’m fine. We’ll talk later. I promise I’m all right.” Mary puts her hand on Betty’s shoulder and gives her a smile. “What do you need, Betty?”

  “Huh?”

  “You came here. Looking for Mary,” I prompt.

  “Oh. That. Yeah.” She picks up the bat then uses it to lean on like a cane. “I was just seeing if she had that thing I asked her to pick up the other day.”

  “Yeah. I’ll bring it over. Later.”

  “That would be for the best, probably.” Betty turns and blocks Mary, whispering in her ear. They give each other a hug, and Betty walks out.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “Just Betty being Betty.”

  “Who, exactly, is Betty?”

  “A friend,” she shrugs.

  “Stop doing that!” I snap. “Stop avoiding my questions. I think I deserve some answers. I’m really trying to be patient with you.”

  She straightens her shoulders and steps closer. “You’re trying to be patient with me?”

  “Yes. This is me being patient.”

  “Please. You don’t have a patient bone in your body.”

  “Exactly. So you should know how much I’m trying here.”

  “Fine. If I answer your questions, will you leave? I’ve got work to do.”

  Her words cut straight through my heart. Why can’t she be as happy to see me as I am to see her? I thought when I finally found her that she would run into my arms, and I’d carry her off into the sunset. But this. This hot and cold. This crying then laughing. This is not what I expected, and I don’t know what to do.

  “Okay. First, where have you been?”

  “Here.” She opens her arms and spins around in a circle. “I’ve been here.”

  “You’ve been thirty-five minutes from the house. For twelve years?” If I wasn’t in such a state of disbelief, I could have formulated a better response.

  “Betty offered me a room if I’d clean for her.” She swallows and walks to the bathroom to fill a cup with water. When she’s done, her long legs fold as she kneels on a chair. “I’ve been here this whole time.”

  Chapter 7

  Mary

  “SO CLOSE. YOU’VE BEEN so close. This whole time?” Brandon stutters, and though I didn’t think it was possible, more guilt stacks in my chest. The man who is always cool, calm, and collected is stammering over his words.

 
; “Yes.”

  “What have you done for money?”

  I swallow and sit on my bed. “Am I talking to you, Brandon, or the cop, Brandon?”

  “Me, Brandon. Always, Mary. It’s always just me.”

  He sits across from me, long legs crossed. And I smile for a second at how uncomfortable he looks. “Sorry my accommodations aren’t more comfortable.”

  “I’d sit on glass to talk to you. Stop stalling.”

  My head bobs, and I oblige. “After I left you that note, I ran. No destination in mind. I just knew I had to leave. I ended up here and went to check into a room for the night. Betty took pity on me and we got to talking.” I tell him everything. Cleaning the other places for cash, paying Betty to buy me a car, running to feel like I’m not a prisoner, wearing a disguise out shopping.

  “You’re unbelievable.” Instead of anger or sarcasm, his voice is full of awe. He shakes his head and crawls toward me. Instinctively, I lean away. The back of my head hits the headboard and he pushes forward to rest his forehead on mine.

  “You’re serious?” I was expecting him to continue to be mad at me. I wouldn’t blame him. If the roles were reversed, I’d be so pissed at him for leaving me . . . even if he did think it was to protect me.

  “Honestly, you’re amazing. Strong.” The cool tips of his fingers trace down my scar. “Smart.” The other hand taps my temple. “Beautiful.” He trails both of his hands to meet on my face, and with a feather light touch, he runs his fingers down my cheeks. “Sexy.”

  In a flash, he pulls me down so I’m on my back and his body is on top of mine. Every hard inch. The days, nights, years I thought about this were nothing compared to the feeling of him pressed against me.

  “I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to you than I was. But good goddamn . . .” He trails off and lowers his head to ravage my neck.

  He sucks, kisses, and licks the sensitive skin, and I raise my hips to get some friction on the place that’s burning for him. We both groan when I rub against his erection, and he slams his mouth to mine. Our tongues fight to get deeper, to get more. It’s rough, urgent, and desperate—over a decade in the making. He rocks into me, and I pull my head away to catch my breath.

  His eyes are blazing, and it seems surreal that he’s actually here. I expected him to hate me, not want me. My attitude and anger toward him are nothing but a disguise to hide the fact that I’m so fucking lonely without him. I did what I thought was best, at the time.

  The hands that so gently pointed out how beautiful I was are now gripping my hips with bruising force. He moves them under my shirt and when they reach the lace of my bra, he freezes and looks at my eyes, asking if this is okay.

  “Touch me,” I whisper.

  I raise my arms so he can remove my shirt and bra. Then he traces my nipples with his fingers, then his tongue.

  “So fuckin’ hot.” He pants.

  I grab his head as it goes lower down my belly to the top of my black yoga pants. When he dips his fingers inside the elastic, he stops again to look at me. I nod, but he shakes his head.

  “Tell me.”

  I sigh and answer. “Yes.”

  Using both hands, he lowers the material of my pants and underwear then takes them off. He traces my legs from ankle to knee with his lips then scoots back down to do the same to the other leg. Once he arrives at the apex of my thighs, his hot breath on the small, trimmed triangle of hair is enough to set me off.

  “Please, Brandon,” I beg. I want this so bad. I’ve never had this before. Never trusted anyone enough to go down on me. Never wanted to look down and see another man’s head between my legs.

  His thumbs part my lower lips and he places a long, soft, wet kiss to my clit. My hips shoot off the bed, but he uses an arm to press me back onto the mattress. The index finger of the other hand pushes inside of me, and I grip the sheets even harder. The sensations are extraordinary and new, but somehow familiar with him.

  “God, Mary. You’re so . . . damn.”

  He continues fucking me with his finger and gently licking my clit until I feel the explosion about to happen. It’s different from the ones I’ve given myself, so much better, and so much more than anything anyone else has ever given me. My thighs begin to shake and the heat low in my belly is now an inferno.

  “I’m so close. Holy . . .”

  He takes the arm off my stomach and leans up. Using two fingers now, he pumps them in and out at a furious pace.

  “Let me see you, Mary. I wanna see you fall apart.” He leans over me and licks my lips with his tongue, my taste assaulting my senses. “Taste like candy, babe. So fuckin’ sweet. So perfect.”

  I want to come so bad, but I also want this to last forever. I hold on as long as I can. His fingers still work me, and when he says, “Come, Mary,” I do, in fact, explode. Every cell in my body joins in and the pressure between my legs bursts in a kind of pleasure I didn’t know was possible.

  He slows his fingers and gently pulls them out, then sucks my juices off. He lies next to me and I wrap myself around his body. My legs tangle with his and an arm drapes across his muscular chest.

  When I can finally breathe normally again, I walk my fingers to the bulge in his pants. I grip it outside his jeans, and he hisses and grabs my wrist to bring my hand back.

  “No. Not this time.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve wanted to do that to you since I saw my first porno.”

  I laugh. “And how old were you?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Thirteen, maybe?”

  “I would have let you. I mean not at thirteen, but later.”

  He turns to his side and traces my eyebrows. “I know.”

  “Why didn’t you ever try?” I’ve wanted to ask him this for so long. He had to have known how I felt; it radiated from me that I was in love with him.

  He scrubs his hands over his face and turns over onto his back. “I didn’t want to ruin us. Our friendship. I knew you had bad shit going on at home. You needed me as a friend; you needed my family . . . I couldn’t risk not being able to be there for you ‘cause I wanted to get in your pants. You were, fuck, still are, worth more to me than anything else in my life, Mary. I was too scared I’d lose you somehow. Plus, my dad would have killed me.”

  Tears well my eyes, but I blink them back before he can see. “You could never lose me.” The second the words leave my mouth, I gasp at the look he shoots my way. Eyes squinted, jaw tight . . . mad.

  “No?” He stands and places his hands on his hips and stares at me. Just stares. I don’t like being under his scrutiny like this. “What the fuck do you think happened? I did lose you! You fucking left!”

  I scramble off the bed and grab my clothes then run the couple of steps to the bathroom before slamming the door. I get dressed as fast as I can and splash some cold water on my face. He’s right. I know it. He has every right to be pissed. I expected it. I don’t know what to do right now. I’m so confused. He should go because we both need to think.

  I open the door, and he rises from the bed and pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

  “It’s okay.” I pat his back and step away from him. “I think you should go, though.”

  “What?”

  “Just for a day or two. This is hard for both of us, and I need some time to think. You do, too. Plus, I need to work. But I promise. I fucking promise you that I’m not going anywhere.”

  He exhales loudly and nods his head. “Yeah. You’re right. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Then he gives me a hard kiss and walks out.

  I stand there for a few minutes staring at the door he just walked out of so easily. It’s what I wanted though, but now I worry that he’ll never come back. That he’ll leave me. That would be karma if I ever saw it.

  “Ugh!” I roughly re-tie my hair in a ponytail and my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten today. I open the fridge and pull out the brown paper bag Brandon brought. When I open
it and see Chinese, I smile like an idiot. My favorite.

  * * *

  It takes me the rest of the day to finish cleaning. Normally when I work, it takes my mind off my past. But today it won’t leave me no matter how hard I try.

  I take an extra hot shower and collapse on the bed in my sleeping shorts, a tank top, and fuzzy slippers. My fingers rub the comforter where Brandon was lying earlier. His woodsy smell lingers and a blush spreads over my cheeks when I remember what happened earlier.

  The right decision was for him to leave. There’s so much history and too many feelings to count. We definitely need time. I’m just about to doze off when there is a knock on my door.

  Crap.

  I forgot to bring Betty her books. I grab the bag from the drawer, and like an idiot open the door without looking through the peephole.

  “Hey, Slim.”

  “Joe.”

  He leans in to kiss my cheek, and I don’t move.

  “What?” He walks in and plops on my bed, arms behind his head. “Not happy to see me?”

  Joe is my . . . fuck buddy. He’s a trucker who stops through every three to four weeks. I met him one night about four years ago when I was at Betty’s place. Her home connects to the office. Joe’s father was a regular here, and Betty had known Joe since he was a baby. I was having a beer with her, and he knocked on her door.

  Betty swore up and down that he was a good guy. She trusted him. And since I trusted her, I let him walk me back to my room. He didn’t even touch me that first night. The next time he was in town, he passed me when I was on my way back from doing laundry. It really was one of those ‘it just happened’ things.

  Before Joe, I’d only had sex with two other men. And I was twenty-four when I lost my virginity. Both other men were staying at the motel and alcohol definitely played a factor. I had only let my guard down a few times and regretted it every time.

  Joe’s the only one who has been in my room, and he really is a nice guy. He’s never here for more than a night, and what little time we spend together is always fun.

  The stark contrast between Brandon and Joe lying on my bed is insane. Joe’s a few inches shorter and has a slightly rounded belly. His hair is dark blond and his eyes are green. He has a few more wrinkles around his eyes than I would expect for a thirty-four-year-old man, but I assume it’s from squinting in the sun while driving.